


The Unfastening of Nick Wilde

by miilky



Series: welcome to the family way [7]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: F/M, Freeform, Gen, Interspecies Adoption, Interspecies Relationship(s), Nick Wilde is an A+++ Dad, Panic Attacks, adoption au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:41:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6380341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miilky/pseuds/miilky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers darkness, bright lights, paws on his wrists, and dying hope in his heart. He pleads to know what he did wrong, and he knows he did nothing wrong. Some people are what they choose to be.</p><p>Their little boy wants to join cub scouts. Judy is ecstatic. Nick has his reservations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unfastening of Nick Wilde

Nick doesn't pretend the night never happened. Nick doesn't pretend he isn't scarred by it. He doesn't deceive himself in believing the effects aren't lasting.

The dark doesn't haunt him. Heat weeps sweat on his fur. Pressure binds his wrists to the floor, fright overtakes his pulses, and their mocking chatter smears his face as the muzzle is fastened-dying hope fading in darkness, wiping the slate clean of any prosperity that might have come with it.

"Dad! Dad! I got in!" He doesn't see the excited cub waving the flyer in his face. He doesn't react to the child's words, and Nick's heart threatens to implode under pressure as he takes a slow drag from his morning coffee.

His claws _raptaptap_ on the tiled counter, "That's great, Ty," and he tries to push enthusiasm into his eyes and smile. He makes it believable, and the eight year old doesn't tell. He runs off to announce his recent accomplishment to his siblings.

"You're not okay," Judy declares at his side and chews on her half-finished waffle. Her hold on him is familiar, and he glances down on her paw on his arm. They were on the canopies lifts, "I know you, dumb fox, and don't try to tell me different."

He doesn't admit her knowing him sometimes frighten him. She reads him, not just his emotions, effortlessly, and sits next to him at the kitchen counter. Her fingers play with the newspaper's corners, and her gaze searches him for something more. She's still, ready and willing to offer all the consolations he needs to hear, and she sucks in deeply, settling both of their minds in one, swell swoop.

"We will make sure nothing happens to him." Possible solutions are at work in her mind, and she speaks firmly, calmly but with a non-negotiable edge, "The counselors, the troop leaders are capable and ready to listen to anything we have to say. Things have changed, Nick. People have changed."

His mug lowers, and he smiles, "Yeah."

World's Greatest Dad reads in bold letters on his cream painted mug, and his back slumps, creating a smooth hunch, "Yeah, people can change. You've changed me," he looks at her pointedly, "they've changed me," and he stares out the window and tries to see what she sees without and blurriness and distortions.

"But what Nick?"

What he loves most about Judy is her optimism. Her infuriating dogged idealism that seems to travel every which way on every which way adventure they finds themselves in. He wants to believe in her idealism, the optimism that people are truly good when given the chance.

But there's blinding light in his eyes, then darkness, and he can't breathe. He's begging to be released, and they won't let him go until they're finished with him.

"Not everyone changes, Judes." He can't look at her, and winces when her wounded image reflects dimly in the window, "And it's different when it's your kit going into the lion's den, no pun intended."

Judy's stiff and concedes quietly to his visual reality. Her nubby claws dig into the concrete between the white tiles, and her feet swing nonsensically, making soft thuds on the counter's wooden body.

Their children show minimal interest in scouts. Patsy's mushroom clouds have left the garage smelling like powerful chemicals. Cooper's soccer practice leaves him as popular as any child can be, with arrogance to boost, and Lynn's academics take up the majority of her time, including the clubs she finds herself being forced into. Tyson's interest in Zootopia's Cub Scouts, while sudden and unprecedented, offers guilty consolation. She's relieved he's finally exhibited unspecified interests outside his collection of Broadway musicals and dramas.

"It isn't going to get easier, Nick," her words are chosen carefully, sensing the land mine infested field she's charging in, "and we can't protect them from every little thing. We can always keep in touch with this; ask questions, interviews, and anything else we can think of for this."

His stare penetrates the counter. Tile starts to boil, bubble and pop, and rings of molten fire decapitates to wipe the whiteness into blackness. He removes the stare and glances at Judy, soft and cool, and turns back to the tiles, hard and hot. Claws tap angrily, softly, fearfully, "We'll visit; talk to the troop leader. Make sure it's safe."

He rolls his eyes and returns Judy's breath-stunting hug, and when she peers at him with wide, thankful eyes, he scoffs and brushes her attempts at flattery. "You're a good dad," coos turn into kisses on his cheeks, and despite the tingling sensation in his tail, he smiles. He wants it to be reality. He wants to be a good father, as the father he barely remembers was.

He stares ahead without seeing, and make believes possibilities are as tangible as much as his mind wants them to be.

* * *

"Congratulations, Tyson!"

He hops. It's weird to watch a tigon cub hop, but it's what he does when the gift is presented to him. Gently pressed into his paws, he stares at the gift-wrapped box as if it's the most cherished item in the world, and when he looks at them, his walnut tinted eyes glitter. His claws shred through defenseless wrapping paper. He blinks at the top, removes the top, and lets out a quiet gasp that leaves them breathless.

"Too cool," he whispers, and then he hops, "too cool, thanks Mom and Pops!"

 _Pops_ is new. He's _Dad_ , _Daddy_ , _Papa_ , _Daddy-O_. Pops is Tyson's special endearment, and this doesn't imply special privileges, doesn't call to him anymore than the others do. But Nick's heart warms in ways he never anticipated it could when it echoes in his head. Pops, what a strange word, reminds him of bubblegum, soda caps inexplicably shooting off soda bottles, and a false gun going off at the start of a running marathon.

Tyson holds the uniform reverently, and stares at it like it's a newborn kit. Spread on his bed, his gaze can't be torn away. His paws twiddle excitedly.

"Do you like it sweetie?"

"You're the best!" He sweeps Judy into a giant hug, and there's no groan of protest and discomfort. He's surprisingly aware for his age, and he nestles gently into the crook of Judy's neck. Three times he swings her, laughing, before setting her down on the floor, "Can I try it on, can I, can I, can I, _pleeeeeeaaaaaaase._ "

"As long as you don't get it dirty, kiddo, the ceremony's tomorrow."

"But what about tonight?"

His ears lower, "Tonight?"

Judy stands between them as the atmosphere shifts. A gradual down slide of sediment, and she will be the barrier to set them apart, to keep the ground from splitting in two.

Nick's firmness doesn't go unnoticed. The way his paws fold inward and stick, how his ears motion backwards in instinctive flicks, "Yeah, yeah, the troop does it personal initiation ceremony without the troop leader, you know," sheepishly, he plucks at his hoodie zipper, finding the fake silver more interesting than his father's vacant stare, "it's tradition, they say, to informally induct new scouts."

"Not happening."

"But why?"

"Nick!"

Nick sees strawberry blond pinned to the floor. In spite of his massive size he doesn't find back, he doesn't have the heart, and he screams to understand _why, why, why_ in darkness. Blinding light startles him, and he doesn't have night vision when the room plunges into complete darkness.

Jeering clings to his clothes as he tears out the room, _"Look, he's crying."_ The door doesn't slam behind him; doesn't make it to the frame. It's left swinging listlessly, and Judy's feet are in pursuit, bounding after him as his body crashes onto the staircase wall.

"We aren't doing this, Judes," the kitchen isn't the safe, the living room is crowded (the faces follow him), his claws scratch at his head-pulls at his ears, "we are not doing this. He isn't going."

Is he screaming? He might be screaming. He doesn't care he's screaming. Tyson can't go. He isn't tiny but he's soft and loves too much and bakes cookies with his grandma at her apartment. He loves _Harrington_ and Broadway musicals and practices singing with his teacher on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays.

Something grabs at his arms, "Nick, Nick, I need you to listen to me," something caresses his fur, lovingly and warm. His throat burns, and something crackles inside. He can't breathe. The world's dark, and it isn't the dark he fears.

Harrowing light takes sight away, and there's no time to touch his eyes. He tries to run away, but someone pins him down to the floor. He can't get up. He can't breathe. He pants and screams, but they won't let him go. He needs to learn his lesson, they say. He needs to learn his place.

Force takes him down to the floor, "Nick, Nick, look at me. You're home, and you're safe."

He hears metal clang, and he cries out as leather is wrapped around his face.

" _Pops,"_ calls in the distance. Burning aches attack his throat, and he can't get rid of the knot lodged in the middle of it. Why _can't_ he _breathe_?

" _Room now, everyone, now!"_ Nick hears hurried, soft footsteps passing by him and upstairs, and his body stills, frozen in unforgotten time.

Sight returns in fragments. Darkness recedes with blinding light, and he's staring into her face, falling in her worried eyes. Her nose twitches, and the race of her face is firmly set in the same way when she's working a case, pursuit of a criminal. She means to control the situation as much as she wants to calm him.

Above her head is the bumpy ceiling, to her left and right are pictures of family outings and relatives. Memory charges forward to do its business. He remembers what he's aid and done. Judy's hissed demand strikes him in the heart, and he swallows thickly, "Where's Tyson?"

"I sent them upstairs." Knowing his question, "I heard them go upstairs, but they could be anywhere else in the house."

Nick's head spins as he stands. He tries to shake off the pinched nerves around his eyes, "No, Nick, no. You need rest, come on."

He lets her take hold of him, and his arm wraps around her shoulders as she digs her shoulders into his chest. As they walk he pushes into her line of sight, "I need to talk to Ty. Did he see?"

"I don't know."

"Did any of them see?"

Her ears droop sadly, and she sighs, "Cooper was in the living room with Patsy and Besty. I saw them leave when we came down. They might be rattled, but it isn't anything we can't fix."

Nick stares ahead, "I need to talk to him."

"You will, trust me, _you have to_ ," there's little effort to walk with him draped around her shoulders, and she sets the pace casual, easy for him to regain his breath, "but now, we'll work on you so we can work on him."

Wall photos tell a story. There's last summer's trip to Disney World, and on the lower right is the student of the year award. Soccer championship group photo is nailed above Disney World's trip, and someone won second prize at this year's science fair with their electromagnetic project. Family portraits taken in the midst of a belated argument are in the middle. The wrong moment adds flavor, he tells Judy.

These are the stories he knows as well as the back of his paw. Words don't describe the characters and their developments. He reads them from the heart, speaks them with his flare, and as Judy drags his body with minimal discomfort, he figures more stories are waiting to be told. Not yet framed, their pictures not yet taken, and it sickens him to think he's an editor censoring and redrafting the best parts into something less thrilling, amazing, and authentic.

"It is not our proudest moment."

He hates the bed comforter. Judy's persuasion skills made him fall to temptation, but the sixteen pillows, large and small and finely designed do nothing to appease his awfulness, "No, it isn't," he sinks, pulls himself out, and sinks again, "Why do we have these things?"

"Discount price online," she answers flatly. Beside the bed is an antique chair given to them after the wedding, and Judy swings the tassels carelessly, pulling at golden brown strings. Her eyes are sharp, and her mouth is puckered in an opposing pout. She isn't happy. She isn't going to get happy until he does something to fix this.

"Should get rid of them," mountains on mountains of pillows hide his face, and the cool cushion causes static to rise through his fur.

"Noted." She hops off the chair and into the bed, and sits to stare at him, "What are you going to tell him?"

He peaks through the pillows, pushing them to the floor, "I don't know."

Judy's pout tightens, "You have to tell him something, Nick."

"What Judy, what do I tell him," throwing his paws in the air they drop at his sides, and she watches as the fingers twitch irritably.

"The truth?"

His snarl is half-hearted at best. It says what he can't say aloud, and he closes his eyes with a deep breath sagging on his chest.

"It's the one thing he hasn't heard, Nick," she says, and they both know it's the truth. It's what they deserve.

Nick waits fifteen minutes, and the walk is unnervingly long for a room that isn't ten feet away.

* * *

"So Papa Nick has breakdown? It is okay. It is not your fault, Little Tyson."

Children understand easily sometimes. Their eyes and eyes twitch in concern, and when he enters, several sets of eyes turn to him with ears pressed low on their skulls. Their teeth are grinding on their cheeks, and Tyson lies in the middle of his bed, curled in a tight ball. As big as he is, as old as he is, Nick feels smaller as he means to be, and he walks in slowly, ignoring their curious glances and protective stances.

"I need to talk to Tyson alone," he coughs, and the not request instantly travels through them. They share nervous glances and depart one by one, giving the wounded cub encouraging smiles and pats.

Of their children, Tyson is the neatest. His room is spotless with every collector's toy and baseball mit in place, and he folds his clothes in square, comfortably placed in drawers. Nick can't claim this accomplishment, even though his mother wishes he did. He sits on the bed, pressing his paw on the smooth quilt Bonnie made for him.

"Ty-boy?" The bed's too strong to squeak. His weight can't touch it, and he pats the bed softly, "Tyson, kiddo?"

Hoodie pushed over his head, knots tied, Nick hears the, _"Please, leave me alone."_

"No can do, Ty-boy, we gotta talk." He scoots towards the middle and plays with his tail, tickling it until it curls in reflex, "I want to explain myself."

Tyson's silent. Nick places his paw on the boy's shoulder, and sighs when there's a flinch but no movement to push him away.

"Can I tell you a story?" He smacks his lips, "I wanted, a long time ago, wanted to be a cub scout."

"You did?" Rolling on his back, Tyson inquires with his eyes, "Why did you get so mad?"

Inside, something wants to break, and Nick pats it down. Not today. Not here. "A long time ago-,"

"Very long time ago."

Nick chuckles, "A very long time ago something very bad happened to me when I wanted to join the cub scouts, and hearing you wanted to join them made me really happy and really scared."

He leans forwards, and the hoodie falls back, revealing his round shaped face and bright amber brown eyes, "Why are you scared?"

"I'm scared for you." His gasped truth strikes him numb, and yes, this is the reason why he's terrified, "It's my job as your dad to protect you, and I'll do everything in my power to make sure you're never hurt.

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't."

Tyson comes towards him and leans his head on his arm, "Are you made at me? Did I do something wrong?"

Nick wraps his tail around him, "No, sweetheart, you didn't."

"Why did you get mad," that honey sweet amber gaze locks him down, "why did you- _you know_."

"Like I said I'm scared for you." Glancing down, the boy doesn't understand, and it's up to him to help him understand, "I'm going to tell you something very important, and I need you to listen to me, okay?"

"Okay."

This seriousness is different from what Tyson's used to. The sobriety, the firmness, and he's afraid and willing. He wants to understand, and he's afraid of what he's going to hear.

But he wants to be a big boy, and he wants to help. He sits upright, pats his knees confidently, "I can do it."

"That's my boy." Tell him the truth echoes, "When I was about your age, I was accepted into cub scouts. Great time I thought, and the secret induction was late at night, I went, one happy little fox, and," he doesn't mean to pause, and he doesn't mean to lead him on. Tingling pain silences him, and pressure pushes down on his chest. Blinding light bleeds into his eyes.

He sees through darkness. He sees through false smiles and hopeful words.

"Pops?" A tiny-large paw falls on his arm, "Are you okay?"

"They muzzled me," it's a line out of a pulp magazine, straight and stiffly, and he doesn't realize he's staring into the boy's eyes until he blinks, "they muzzled me."

"What?" Tyson shakes his head. He's confused, "Why?"

He doesn't tell him how many times he's asked the same question. The answer is clear to him but no better and no less relenting. He shrugs, and his shoulders slump. His paws fall on the back of the cub's head, "I'm a predator, and they were prey."

"You're a predator," and head resting on his chest the realization cuts him short, and he swallows thickly without looking at him, "I'm a predator too."

"I don't want to frighten you."

"I know."

"I want you to understand."

" _I_ _know_."

"This world is a beautiful place. It took me a while to get it, but it is with wonderful mammals everywhere."

"Not every mammal is wonderful."

"No, they're not." They stare out the window, and birds fly past, flapping their wings as hard as their bodies will allow, "There are people in this world who refuse to understand, and to those who want to, we should try."

Tyson is shaken, and tilts his head to the side. He knows of the bad people in the world. His father doesn't need to tell him that, "What are we going to do?"

"Well, my beautiful Tyson Jordan," muzzle on his head, he rocks gently on the bed and hums his solution in an unchained melody that soothes both of them, "we're going to compromise."

* * *

Nick's iPaw stands on the dashboard and reads 8:00. The minivan comes to a slow stop on the other side of the street, and they watch quietly behind tinted windows as Tyson skips. He's their skipper, and they love him for it. He skips to the familiar building with red marked bricks and white crusted steps. Illumination comes from street lights, and the clock inside ticks and ticks until Judy grips his paw with her own.

He snaps, "Compromise."

"He wasn't going to agree to it unless we were in the back."

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing that'd be?" Behind them, five bodies are strapped in car seats and seat belts with cheeky grins, and Cooper bites stuffs his paw into his chip bag, "Your parents following you as you walk through the night alone and unsupervised."

They don't say how relieved they are to have them there, cheeky grins and smart mouths. It pieces together their tattered nerves, and to their credit, these children they love dearly, demanded that they would accompany their parents on this trip. _"We're a pack,"_ Lynn tells them responsibly, or as she wants to appear to get her point across without getting disarmed, _"it's what we do."_

Yuri unhooks his rodent tyke seat and climbs across two laps to make it to the side window, "Look, look, Little Tyson knocks on door! They let him in! Do we go in now?"

"The agreement was we won't go in until given good reason," although it tastes like poor, cheap, expired vinegar Nick confidently reaffirms their plan. He has to. It's the only way he'll stay put.

Tyson knocks on the door and doesn't look back at the minivan on the other side of the street. With other vehicles in the area it's inconspicuous, and no one can say he appears worried. He knows there are people watching him in the best possible way, and when the door opens he sees the friends he's waited to meet and crowd about with. His figure slips from the streetlight and into the darkness, and his tail swishes as the door closes.

The door the shuts, maybe locks, and they wait.

"We should go in."

"Nick, it's been five minutes."

"Actually, seven minutes and a half," Patsy corrects, and the children are mushed at the window, minus Yuri whose smallness aids him better than the others.

Cooper's fluffed, ring gripped tail swishes, and he doesn't press his face to the window as the younger ones do, "How long does this take?"

"A few minutes," Nick whispers, "no more than thirty at worst."

He can't stand to wait. He wants to snatch off, break down the front door, and take his boy into his arms-drag him if he has to. He wants him safe, and he's about ready when the door finally opens.

A zebra, beaver, groundhog, giraffe come out in a single group, and in the middle comes the tigon cub prancing happily in the middle.

"To Tyson J. Wilde, our newest scout!"

"And I promise to uphold the duties of the cub scouts!" Crisp air warms under laughter, and the children move in the same direction, waving and laughing with their newest member. Paws lock and swing, and as they disappear into the night, the cool night considerably relinquishes its hold.

Street lights flicker. Nick breathes, and he promises himself he isn't crying. His face is wet, and he isn't crying. Cheers flood the backseat. Judy takes the keys, and the engine roars to life, "Let's make sure they make it home."

* * *

"You don't have to do this. I can go in on my own."

"What?" He scoffs, "I can do this. I _want_ to do this."

Dull lights calm him. Air is cool and lemon scented, mixed with bleach and body sweat. Nick smiles through the closing doors, the restraints, and pressure holding him down. Tyson's paw wraps around his, and moving in the direction of the child, he sees that smiling, hopeful face-free of any disappointment.

He wants to be encouraging, and encouraging he will be.

The scout leader comes towards him. He's an addax with bright eyes and an easy walk. His ears flicker happily when he sees Tyson, and he doesn't hesitate striding to them.

"Ah, Tyson Jordan!" He has a nasally tone, high pitched and trapped in sinuses, "Good, good, Officer Wilde, I presume? Hurry, hurry, everyone's waiting for you."

Tyson lurches forward, stops, and turns at Nick, "Are you sure?"

"What?" He swats his paw, but can't stop rolling his fingers in his palm, "Kiddo, have fun. I'll be there soon."

These are good kids. He knows this. These are good children that will grow into good adults. He knows this too. Grass pricks him as he sits, and the sun blares in their vision, causing winces and sunglasses to fall down on his face. This light is kind. It isn't painful. It isn't like the other light he holds in his memories, and the children sit in silence, waiting for him to speak.

"You're Tyson's dad?" A giraffe raises his hoof before answers. Tyson covers his face, not smiling but not frowning, and knows he can't show too much pride. Cool kids don't show smiles.

"Yeah, that's my Ty-boy," he keeps it casual, even, and when Tyson rolls his eyes he knows this isn't a name he's commonly known for. Oops.

The giraffe pulls back and scrutinizes, "You're a fox, and he's a tiger. I'm…confused.

"I'm a tigon, he's a fox, and yes, he's my dad," surprisingly, or not so, he corrects his friend softly, without an edge of reproach.

"How's that possible?"

"Zachariah!"

Nick clicks his tongue, "Whoa, easy there. It's why I'm here. To teach you, and really, give a hand to this lil' fella here for pushing me to come. It's all his ideas."

Grass rides up his pants, and he doesn't think to breathe but speaks to them without warning and thought.

"Tyson is adopted. We and his mom chose him, and he chose us." Their eyes are wide, and their heads shake in disbelief, "It sounds insane, I know, but it works. And yes, his mom is a-,"

"Rabbit!" He nearly tears out of his cross legged style, and he looks around, eyes daring them to say otherwise, "She is the first rabbit in ZPD, the best in the force, and she makes the _best_ blueberry pancakes."

"And what about me?"

"Third best?" His abashed grin does nothing to help his helpless shrug, "After Francine?"

Zachariah taps his head with his hoof, "You're his dad, and you're his son. Your mom's a rabbit, and they're both cops. And…this is blowing my mind."

"I know," the zebra next to him admits, "and my brother always told me foxes were supposed to be shady."

"Gabriel," the scout master admonishes.

"What? It's what my brother says!"

After calmly reminding the scout master the reason for his visit, Nick presses on. He's going to teach them, and they're going to learn. If this lesson sticks with them, then one part of his job is completed, "And that my dear cub scouts, is what we call _generalizations_ -better term for _stereotypes_. Let me tell 'ya, stereotypes can't and won't tell you what kind of person a mammal is."

"Stereotypes?"

He fixes a pointed stare at them, "What do you think of me?"

They share confused, unsure glances, and Tyson knows this is question is one he has the answer to but can't answer. It'll defeat the purpose he's trying to set.

"You're a fox," Zachariah admits, "and a cop too."

"You're a fox cop-dad, and you're cool too, maybe, maybe," Gabriel licks his lips anxiously, and he twists the red scarf around his neck, "my brother's wrong. You're _really_ cool."

Nick lowers his proud grin. He can't soak this up in front of Tyson. He's supposed to be the cool dad, and cool dads don't show too much pride.

He winks instead, and Tyson winks back.

* * *

"And then Zachariah accidentally set him on fire." A small, golden pin shines, "It's how I got my _How to put out a fire_ badge!"

Judy stares and laughs at the jacket's charred remains, "I am so proud of you," she speaks to Tyson but the sentiment is shared amongst them. They settle with unspoken endearments, and she leans into his chest, his tail wrapping around her waist.

Cooper cuffs a ball of popcorn in his paw, " _Sssshhh,_ _Gossiping Feline Wives of New Horn is on_. We're gonna find out if Shannon's fur removal surgery is a go."

"It isn't going to look good on her," Patsy sips.

"It wouldn't look good on anyone," Betsy crunches.

"Shannon is an able lynx, an able woman. She might pull it off," Yuri decrees, and the children burst into a fit of giggles in front of the television. Peace is restored.

Tyson's back reclines on the sofa with his paws folded on his stomach. It's closer than usual, and Nick blinks at his furry head, strips and spots randomly mixed in.

"You're good, Ty-boy?"

He raises his head and grins, "You're good, Hot Tamale?" His smile is every smile those kids had for him, and for his little boy. In the moment Nick realizes he's been walking the road for years now, and has finally received the keys to a posh colored minivan to cruise in. Sometimes, it's a police car, and other times he strolls lazily.

He's never alone; even when he thinks he is.

"Oh my god, your emotional reconciliation is great and all, but Shannon is not pulling that off one bit!"

Cooper reaches for the last of the popcorn to find it empty, and the handful is pushed into Lynn's mouth, "Shut up, Cooper."

Offended, he launches at her, and a minor scuffle leaves the carpet stricken popcorn kernels that even a high-powered vacuum will be unable to suck up. But as he watches his kits tussle, girls pouncing on boys, Yuri standing on top of them, and having his partner scold in between laughs, he thinks-quite optimistically, that life's good.

Charred jackets, popcorn kernels, fussy children, and Nick leans into Judy's half embrace, and in television lit darkness happiness finds him.

**Author's Note:**

> Nick is an A+++ Dad, and nothing can tell me otherwise. I love that Zootopia adds enough realism and hope that we can take out of it and do what we want with it in fandom. It isn't too far of a stretch.
> 
> Tyson is an artistic soul. Scouts is one of the few physical activities/organizations he's going to join in his life.
> 
> EDIT: Revisions were made. Made it sharper, cleaner. Hopefully, I did a good self-editing job.


End file.
